Right away, she felt bad. “Mamma says I worry over things that will never come true.”
Dawdi nodded. “Guess we all do, to some degree or ’nother.”
“Still, we oughta enjoy every single day the Good Lord gives us, ain’t so?” she replied.
Still holding her hand in his, Dawdi chuckled. “Don’t be feeling sorry for me, Hannah. Living here is gonna be right fine. Already ’tis.” There was a twinkle in his eyes. “ ’Specially with so many interesting folk to talk to.”
She felt better now. So Dawdi found her to be an interesting granddaughter. He didn’t consider her to be a chatterbox, which he’d remarked in jest about Mary Ruth at the supper table last night. “We’ll have us another chat here perty soon,” she said, hearing Mamma calling to her from the other side of the house.
“Jah, I’d like that.” He grinned up at her.
With that, she leaned down and kissed Dawdi’s crinkly forehead.
Mary Ruth was glad for the near ceaseless flow of customers at the roadside stand all afternoon. She enjoyed selling a basketful of decorative gourds to Mrs. Ferguson, one of their many faithful customers. Then Mrs. Esbenshade arrived, almost before Mrs. Ferguson could get her spanking new green Nash sedan out of the way.
“I hear there’s to be a wedding coming up soon in your family,” Mrs. Esbenshade said.
The only family wedding she knew of was the Masts’, and she mentioned Anna’s name to the woman. “Do you know my second cousin, then?”
“Oh my, yes. I buy apples every year from Fannie and her girls.” The woman’s plump face brightened. “My neighbors’ second son works for Peter Mast, doing odd jobs.”
“We pick all our apples over there,” Mary Ruth said, making small talk, what she loved doing best.
“When is Anna’s wedding?”
“Third Tuesday in November. Anna and her beau were published in church right after the fall communion. That’s our custom.”
“So Amish weddings occur only in November and December?”
“Around Lancaster, jah . . . and once in a while late October or early January, if need be. There are only so many Tuesdays and Thursdays in a two-month period, ya know.”
Mrs. Esbenshade smiled. “Well, I can’t pretend to know much about your ways, Mary Ruth. I suppose I’ll wait for a written invitation from Anna.”
“A gut idea, I’d say.” And with that, she tried to interest the English woman in some pumpkins, which were coming on real gut now.
“Oh, I’ll come back tomorrow and pick out a nice big one for my nephew. He’s seven this year and wants to carve a jack-o’-lantern all by himself.”
“Tomorrow, then. Either Leah or Sadie will be here tending the stand, for sure.” Mary Ruth knew nothing much about Halloween, only that it was a night English children went from door to door begging for candy. It wasn’t a holiday the People had ever observed. The best thing about October was selling so many pumpkins, except the ones Mamma had already set aside to make pumpkin-nut cookies, pumpkin-spice cake, and pumpkin-chiffon pie, her specialty. So pumpkins were awful gut for business, and it seemed the more they planted each year, the more they sold.
A few minutes after Mrs. Esbenshade drove away, young Elias Stoltzfus rode up in his father’s market wagon. He pulled off the road a bit and gave the horse a sugar cube before walking over to the produce stand. “Hullo there, Mary Ruth,” he called to her, taking his straw hat off his head and completely ignoring the lineup of fruits and vegetables. Seemed he had a talk on, and that was right fine with her. “My pop says we might be goin’ over to the Mast wedding next month. Now, what do you think of that?”
She liked the sound of it, sure did. And, so as not to be forward, she nodded her head slowly and smiled at the redheaded boy named for his father, a long-standing deacon in their church.
“What I’m getting to, Mary Ruth, is when it’s time to sit down for the wedding feast, I hope you’ll sit ’cross from me at the table.”
“Jah, I’d like that, Elias.” Her heart filled with joy at his invitation.
“I’ll do all I can to make sure I’m lined up just right ’fore we sit down. Don’tcha worry none. We’ll have us a wonderful-gut time.”
Even though she was far from courting age— Elias surely knew that, and so was he—she liked the idea of being friendly anyways. Of course, she would be right sensible about boys, just as Leah had always been . . . and Mamma most surely had been back when. She wouldn’t think of behaving the way Sadie had here the last year or so. Thank goodness her big sister had settled down and joined church. All for the better.
Elias didn’t bother to purchase anything, just grinned, showing his teeth a little too much, and waved to her as he turned to go. “See ya tomorrow at school, jah?”
“Jah, at recess,” she said, hoping he’d remember and come say hello to her maybe.
Running back to his horse and wagon, Elias got himself seated, then whistled loudly to alert the Belgian steed to pull out quickly. And he was on his way. Ach, and what a fast driver he was, Dat would surely say if he’d seen the way Elias handled the horse. But the Stoltzfus boy had always been like-that, young and spirited, like his stallion. Yet there was something gentle and sweet about him, too, Mary Ruth knew. There was no getting round that.
She was mentally counting the years till her rumschpringe when another customer came calling. This time a fancy Englisher with the darkest hair and eyes she’d ever seen. A right handsome young man, really, as fancy boys go. His hair was groomed neatly and he wore pressed black trousers and a long-sleeved white shirt with a woolen red vest and black bow tie, as if he might be a Fuller Brush salesman. “How can I help you today?” she said, greeting him, thinking he’d surely have plenty of money to clean out the stand if he wanted to.
“I’m not interested in buying anything,” he said bluntly. “I’m here to deliver a message to your sister. I assume you’re related.” He handed her an envelope.
“That depends on who you mean. I have three sisters, sir.”
He smiled at her just then. “Please, you don’t have to call me ‘sir’ . . . I’m not much older than you are.”
She wasn’t sure if he winked at her or not, but he was truly flirtatious. Glancing down at the letter in her hand, she saw it was addressed to Sadie Ebersol. “Jah, Sadie’s my sister. I’ll give it to her.”
“I’d appreciate that.” He nodded slightly, behaving again like a proper gentleman all of a sudden.
She slipped the letter into her pocket. “I’ll see that Sadie gets it by suppertime, if that’s all right with you.”
“No hurry,” he said. “So long.” He turned and rushed back to his shiny gray car, then sped away like nobody’s business.
She found it ever so curious that both boys had wanted to show off for her, one with a heavy hand on the reins, the other with a lead foot. Feeling for the letter in her dress pocket, she reminded herself to find Sadie as soon as she went inside, come suppertime.
It was well past dusk when they all sat down together for Bible reading and evening prayers in the kitchen. Sadie was glad to be keeping the glass chimneys on the oil lamps consistently clean; so much better it was for Dat when he read long passages from the Scriptures, which he did this night.
He read aloud in Pennsylvania Dutch from Luke chapter nine, beginning at verse twenty-three. “ ‘And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: but whosoever will lose his life for my sake, the same shall save it.’ ”
Dat continued to read, but Sadie’s thoughts got stuck on the words “whosoever will save his life shall lose it.” She wondered, was that what she’d done by making her kneeling vow before the bishop and the membership last month? Had she attempted to save her life . . . her very soul?
But what of the tiny life growing within her now? What was to become of Derry’s baby once it was born into the Plain community? W
ould he love Sadie enough to marry her? She had no idea. She only knew that she was terrified and wished she might see Derry again very soon. She had to tell him that what she’d suspected for several weeks was absolutely true. And best she could calculate, by mid-June she’d be giving birth.
She could only imagine how hurt Dat and Mamma would be if they knew. Yet she couldn’t bear to tell them today, not this week either. She didn’t rightly know just when she could bring herself to reveal such a disgraceful thing as this. She recalled the church community’s stand—and the consequences for the sinner—when a young girl had become pregnant back two years ago. Such a time that had been. And now here she was in the same jam! How? How could such a thing have happened to her?
Her thoughts continued to whirl as Dat’s voice droned on. More and more she was thinking that if she weren’t in danger of being shunned—would the bishop make an exception?—she could marry Derry and go fancy if he refused to join the community of the People. Save her family from some embarrassment, maybe. Though such ideas were truly hogwash, she knew. There was no getting round the Ordnung. It would be craziness to think otherwise. All she really knew, without a doubt, was that she had to share her startling news with her beloved. She could only guess what he would say or do. Surely he’d convinced her of his love—she could rely on that, couldn’t she? He’d declared it outright so many times she dared not try and count. Truth was, her revelation might put them on dangerous ground. He could become angry at the least little thing.
She scarcely knew what to do first. Best keep this to herself for a while longer.
Mary Ruth rushed into the bedroom where Sadie and Leah were both in long cotton nightgowns, brushing their waist-length hair. “Ach, I forgot to tell you, Sadie,” she exclaimed. “A young man—all dressed up—dropped by the roadside stand this afternoon. He asked me to give you this.”
Sadie wondered what on earth Mary Ruth was talking about, and so excitedly at that. She saw her name printed on the envelope and her heart leaped up. Was this a letter from Derry? One of the very things she’d longed to see . . . to keep in her treasured things. Could it be?
Well, now that Mary Ruth had made her delivery, she wasn’t leaving the room, wasn’t leaving Sadie alone with this precious letter from her dearest one. “May I have some privacy?” she said at last.
Both Leah and Mary Ruth took the hint and left together, closing the door behind them. Moving to the small oil lamp atop the dresser, she stood there, fingers trembling, and opened the envelope.
Dear Sadie,
I hope you are well.
This may come as a surprise, but I hope you’ll agree that the time has come for us to part. You are a baptized member of your church now, and I am preparing to enlist in the army, which will undoubtedly take me far away from Lancaster County. I realize we’ve discussed this already, that I promised to keep in constant touch with you during my military duty.
However, thinking about the potential problems of such a long-distance relationship, I have second thoughts about tying you down with no promise of marriage. I should not expect loyalty like that from you, and even if I did, it wouldn’t be fair to either of us, would it?
I hope you have a happy life.
Sincerely,
Derek Schwartz
Sadie felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. Was Derry saying good-bye to her for good? But how could that be? She couldn’t begin to comprehend, after all they’d meant to each other. After everything. And now such a horrid letter when she needed him more than ever. Oh, she felt so ill . . . as if she might lose all her supper.
The time has come for us to part. . . .
Staggering to the bed, she clutched the letter, not caring to repress her sobs. Not realizing that now, as she buried her head in the pillow, Leah had slipped into the room, closed the door silently, and was leaning over her. “Aw, Sadie . . . my dear sister . . .” And then she felt Leah beside her, lying ever so near, wrapping her arms around her, holding her as if she were a little child. “There, there,” Leah whispered. “Weep if you must.”
“Ach, I loved him so,” she cried. “I truly loved him. . . .”
Leah said no more, and somewhere between the blackness of night and the veil of bitter tears, Sadie slept.
Leah was torn between her sister’s obvious grief and her own curiosity over the letter still clasped in sleeping Sadie’s hand. So . . . Sadie hadn’t ended her relationship with the English beau earlier, as Leah had hoped. No matter, it was over now. And though she felt terribly sorry for Sadie, she was mighty glad that Derry was gone once and for all. He’d broken things off in such a spineless manner! Well, the boy wasn’t worthy of anyone’s affections, let alone her sister’s.
Leah purposely stayed awake, shifting her thoughts to Jonas. She had no reason to ever expect a coward’s letter from him, now that she had proof of his keen interest in her, in his plan to court her. One year from now their wedding plans would be published in church, and by Thanksgiving Day they would be wed, probably. Jah, the year ahead would be the best one of her whole life . . . if Dat came to see the light, that is. Smithy Gid, too.
Sighing, she rose to pull up a lightweight quilt over her sister. Leah hoped and prayed that Sadie might enjoy the same depth of happiness she herself had found in dearest Jonas, only this time with a nice Plain boy.
But she worried, unable to sleep. Had Sadie’s reputation been tarnished by the grapevine amongst the community of the People?
Chapter Fifteen
Derek Schwartz talked his brother into going out for a night on the town, to Harrisburg, thirty-eight miles away. Robert was a wet blanket when it came to having fun, particularly this Friday night, and Derek accused him in so many words as they drove to a downtown soda shop called The Niche.
After a near-silent supper they headed to the YMCA, where a bevy of girls were eager to dance to a live local band, and a Sinatra wannabe was crooning onstage and making time with the microphone. Derek was more than happy to oblige and danced with four different blondes before noticing Robert sitting over on the sidelines. This annoyed him, but he decided to keep his yap shut this time. Poor, miserable big brother, suffering the aftershock of war. Shouldn’t he be content having survived Normandy’s invasion with all his limbs and mental faculties? Some of the young guys his age had come back with a hook for a hand—or worse, in body bags. His father had told Derek in a whisper one night in the hallway connecting the small medical clinic to the house, “Your brother will need patience from all of us . . . time to adjust to civilian life again.”
Even so, Derek could not muster up a trace of sympathy for Robert tonight. Why should he waste his dance-floor energy having to twist Robert’s arm when the atmosphere was charged with pure exhilaration, perfumed and coiffed girls, and great music? Didn’t the ex-GI know it was time to celebrate? He was alive, for pete’s sake!
By the time they were back in the car and driving home, Derek was proud to have collected four phone numbers, all from blue-eyed blondes. One, a deep-dimpled girl, could have easily passed herself off as Helen O’Connell, sweet canary of Jimmy Dorsey’s swing band. Yeah, the phone numbers were long-distance ones, but he didn’t have to dial up all of them within the space of a week . . . or even a month. One thing was settled in his mind—he was ready for a new girl. Harrisburg, York, Reading, he didn’t care. The fling with Sadie Ebersol had gone on way too long. He could kick himself for leading her on as he had, letting her believe he would keep in touch with her as an enlisted man. Or that he loved her at all. What got his goat was how innocent she had been . . . too trusting, too. He bristled now, recalling their furtive trysts in the woods. Memories of the past two months haunted him—the risks he’d taken—dragging off to work, too tired to pull his fair share.
Wisely, and in the nick of time, he had rid himself of Sadie with a tidy and to-the-point letter, which her cute—and quite cheerful—younger sister had promised to deliver. By now, knowing Sadie as he did, she would hav
e cried herself to sleep more than two nights in a row. Soon, though, she would be out flirting again, finding herself a good-looking but rowdy Plain boy, most likely, now that she was a bona fide member of that back-woodsy church. He made a mental note to be more discreet with his sugarcoated doublespeak in the future, having made empty promises repeatedly. His best move so far had been cutting things off before something happened to tie him down to her.
Robert broke the silence, intruding into Derek’s reverie. “How can they do it?”
“Huh?”
“People act like things are fine. Don’t those girls at the ‘Y’ know there’s been a war? Our guys were blown to smithereens and they—you . . . everyone— acts like nothing happened.”
Derek turned and looked at his brother. Robert was gripping the steering wheel with both hands, at ten o’clock and two, just as their father had taught them.
“How can things be the same here at home?”
In the four months since his brother’s return, Derek had never heard him speak of his war experiences. He hadn’t heard the edge of frustration, the intense anger in Robert’s voice. “Maybe it’s because some of us weren’t there to see people get blown to kingdom come . . . that’s how,” Derek shot back, not sure why he felt so angry now himself.
Robert fell suddenly silent again, which made Derek uneasy. His brother’s face was often as white as the sheets their father used to drape over a corpse from time to time. Robert proudly wore the mask of unwitting demise, which bothered Derek. It was as if this young war veteran had to experience death vicariously, here and now—after the fact—to somehow justify what his slaughtered best buddies had faced and lost. And now Robert was driving much too slowly on the highway as the turn-off for Strasburg came into view. What was really wrong? Derek wondered. Why was Robert driving like there was no need to get somewhere? Ever? Like he was in no hurry to arrive home, to crawl into bed and sleep in the safety of their father’s home instead of a foxhole. Was he afraid he might endure the nightmarish dreams of the Normandy beaches all over again?
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